requiem
by Rivergift
Summary: Three ficlets for three glimpses at Susan down the path of darkness.
1. Valiance

A pane of glass and a wooden door are all that separates them; for a moment Susan wishes away all the shades of gold that play around the edges of their love, because it was once so simple. The door swings open, a bell rings, the wish is gone.

"Is this alright?"

And there is Lucy, standing there so doubtfully, for all the world like an insecure young girl on the cusp of realising all the gifts she has and all the tragedy that can come from them. She stands, the dress wrapping her like a contrived present, laces and tasteful flower, thick ribbon twining round the slender waist, one sleeve almost slipping off her shoulder.

"Good, Lucy, good. Now just see if that..." She reaches out, her eyeline slides away for just that perfect moment, and she fails to catch (she _fails_) the hurt look in her sister's eyes. It has been a long time since she last called her _Lu._

The strap is tugged up again, a flower arranged minutely, and Susan smiles. Despite everything, she is glad to see her sister so beautiful (_again)_, glad to be the one to have prepared Lucy so well for the parties she must start attending soon. She's already seen a few boys approach her - shy and stuttering and brash like all the young ones, but still, one or two are quite handsome.

She flashes a smile at Lucy, confident. "You'll be the belle of the night in that dress, darling. Why, I'm sure the boys can't keep their eyes off you already!" She smirks a little, conspiratorial, coy.

"Don't be silly, Su, they wouldn't!"

"Now, Lucy, you musn't be so shy. Hard-to-get is all very well, but there's a limit to everything, you know. Don't tease them too much, but don't fall right into their hands either. It's rather fun, once you get the idea."

Lucy is looking at her with a foreign expression in those changeable eyes, a shiver runs across Susan's neck for once there was nothing her little sister could hide from her.

"Play with their hearts?"

Slence. Neither of them can find the words to say what they want to, and Susan doesn't want to speak anyway, just to pretend that the accusation she hears in that voice is imagination, and Lucy's disappointment is not as tangible as the silk beneath her fingers.

"Fun."

"Well, yes, you musn't take it all so seriously, Lucy! It's all a game, you know, just loosen up and have a little fun, will you? No boy will want you if you act so uptight!"

"There was a time when _men_ wanted us," and the instinct to answer _not now _drains like the last strains of an old song. Lucy's tone is annoyed, stung to anger at Susan's rebuke, and fragile, too, for the falter at the end when Susan's answer is not _yes, there was. _

"Go and change, Lucy," she says abruptly. She cannot meet those eyes, passionate eyes, loving eyes, faithful eyes. "I need to get home and get ready for tonight."

Lucy watches her for an infinite second with all the truths of two worlds burdening their young depths, and wordlessly she turns and shuts the door firmly, leaving Susan staring into her own painted face in the mirror.


	2. Justice

"What were you thinking?"

"Exactly as a _sane, rational _person would, _unlike _Peter and evidently unlike _you."_

"Susan."

A pause.

"So it wasn't a joke. It wasn't the alcohol. It wasn't the late night. It wasn't even a boy."

"I did nothing wrong," she retorts tightly.

"Oh? Remind me again, _sister,_ when did Mother say you were to be back?"

"No one goes home so early -"

"What time?"

"Ten," she concedes. Defiant.

"How many glasses?"

"Five."

Silence.

"Small ones."

"Small ones," Edmund repeats. "So you hit our brother after five small glasses of wine."

"_No," _she answers, because this is not fair and this is not _just_ and she will not stand here and be _judged _by this - child -

"Then what, Susan Pevensie? What in the world took the last shreds of common sense and decency and _love_ from you - "

"Peter!" She breaks in, and she will not hold back now. Edmund asked for it. If it destroys him - she knows it will - _he asked for it. _

"Because he overstepped his bloody _boundaries _and brother or no brother there is a line you do not cross or have you forgotten that? Because I refused to be subjected to lectures about a land that did not _exist."_

"No," he whispers. _Yes._

"And then he called upon the name of a _heathen god _that you in your _childish _fantasies have _imagined _and if he thought it would convince me he was _wrong. _I will _not_ watch you condemn me for trying to _grow up _and be a part of this world _our world _though you seem to have forgotten that, _little brother. _I refuse."

"You refuse us." There is no question in his voice now, only cold, dead certainty. Susan feels a frisson of fright.

"You refuse to believe in years of battles fought for your sake, my queen? In sleepless nights and broken hearts so that Narnia would be safe? In a brother who gave his childhood to save yours, in every drop of blood Peter has shed _for you? _Susan, do you _know _what you have done? Do you _understand _this? Do you know that for an hour after you threw him out of your room he knelt there and waited, until you stopped crying and fell asleep? Do you - "

"I will not give up my life _here_ for memories that will never be anything more!"

"That are _more_ than your pathetic social circle!"

"I will not spend my life repaying a debt left over from another life. I will not, Edmund. If you doubt me, do not doubt this. I will not remember. I will not falter. I will not give in and I will not give you what you want. _Brother_ - you know I break no promises."

And now there is no going back, no forgiveness.

"Very well," he says finally, and the sorrow and the anger - "But Susan, hear me now. I love you, as I always have, as I always will. But I swear by Aslan and by all that I hold dear, if I_ ever _see that look in Peter's eyes again, or Lucy's, for that matter,_ you will regret it."_

She stands there for a long time after he leaves.


	3. Magnificence

When the desperate letter is discarded (_no, little brother)_ and the heartfelt plea is over _(never, little sister)_, Susan seats herself on the kitchen ledge, and waits, legs swinging. The knock on the door is expected, but awful, she almost pretends she is not home. But she has not been home for a long time now, and Peter never did mind.

The door swings open. Two feet and two worlds now lie between them. Susan defies, as she always has.

He stands quietly in her doorway, undemanding, the one sibling who never rebuked her and yet the one who asks the most of her. Because no matter what she says to Edmund, no matter what she tells Lucy as she turns her gilded back, this is the basest betrayal. She enacts it anyway.

"I'm busy," she invents, "prior arrangements, you know. I'm so sorry, do give them my love." And oh, she tosses this word around so lightly like a feather on the wind, never flying quite the way she wants it to, drifting off on its own journeys till she's forgotten where, exactly, she wanted it to go.

He bows his head, his jaw clenches, he will not push. _Susan, Susan, _tender as ever and she cannot accept that now.

"I _am_ sorry, Peter," she murmurs and they both know the other is misunderstanding. "Next time?"

It is a hollow offer from a hollow girl in a hollow world, but he takes it, because he always does, because he always will take her, sins and all. _Peter, Peter, Peter, please? _Wisps of childs' voices mutter in her ears, ghosts of daisy chains and garlands in her hair and a time when _brother_ meant _safe,_ not_ en garde._ That time is gone, and with it a castle in the air (_on the sea) _where Princesses (_Queens) _ruled in all their fair glory. The day has passed, it is night now, and she can build her own fire _(and burn on it)_.

Gentle, hesitant hands tilt her chin up, blue eyes searching hers so plaintively she wants to comfort the little boy all over again. "I _am_ fine," she exclaims rather petulantly, even to her own ears, but she cannot bear the alternative. "I hope you enjoy yourselves - the old Professor is _so _charming and quaint. I'm sure it'll be fun, revisiting our childhood. Now, you should go, Peter, you'll miss the train." She smiles, dried lipstick tugs at her mouth, her cheeks flame with rouge and anger and sorrow and a deep regret she cannot quite countenance.

"I'll hurry," he says softly, and turns. For one unbearable moment they are caught in the tangle of their own making, double crosses and averted gazes and the raw wounds coated with bright smiles and polite conversation. Then, swiftly, he catches her in an embrace that is all memory and no substance, or rather all his love and her weakness.

"Goodbye," she mutters, and watches as the sunlight crowns his golden hair as he turns the corner.


End file.
